LXVI

THE DOOR TO ULCISCOR’S WINDOWLESS office slides open at a click of the Will key, revealing the man sitting comfortably in an armchair in the corner. He stirs at my wary entrance, holds up his hands in a gesture of genial surrender as he stands. A big man, taller than me as he unwinds his length. Broad-shouldered and muscular, pale and blond. A braided beard. A silver torc at his neck. “Catenicus. My name is Baine Breac. You know me?”

I examine him. “I know Eidhin. I also know you are a Quintus in Military.”

“Quartus, actually.”

“That wasn’t the important part.”

He smiles slightly, nodding. “I am not here for them.” His Common is exceptional. Barely any trace of the accent that Eidhin has. “Quite the opposite.”

I squint at him. No telling if he’s being truthful about the rest of it, but I can see Eidhin in every line and motion. “Alright.” A quick focus on my sense of Will confirms he’s a Quartus. Gods’ graves. If he wants to hurt me, I’m not going to be able to do much about it.

Baine says nothing for a moment, and I get the impression his cool assessment sees a lot. “My son has talked of you. Not much, because we do not talk much,” he concedes heavily. “But he has an admiration of you. A respect. That is why I am here.”

Direct. Simple. It reminds me so much of Eidhin. This is the man who taught him. Who raised him to be the man he is.

And who, according to my friend, betrayed everything he believed when he submitted to the Hierarchy.

“First, though, Catenicus,” Baine adds, “it seems you have an injury that needs tending.”

Kadmos grunts, spotting the increasingly large patch of crimson staining my fresh tunic. “Rotting gods, Master Vis,” he mutters in disgust, pressing me into a seat. “Don’t get it on the chair. I’ll be back shortly.”

He vanishes, and Baine and I watch each other. Me wary, the large man entirely relaxed. My injury is more irritation than pain now, Kadmos’s tea as effective as always. “Have you spoken to Eidhin, since this all began?” I ask eventually.

“Briefly. We are both under the command of Princeps Redivius.” He sees my need for more. “He is alive, Catenicus. For now.”

He falls silent as Kadmos returns, evidently wishing this conversation to remain a private one. I’m reluctant to show the extent of my injuries to Baine, but the alternative is leaving him alone again, so I strip off once again and allow Kadmos to work needle and thread.

As the Dispensator fusses beneath his breath, Baine starts talking about the news he’s heard from outside of Caten. Some of it Tertius Ericius has already apprised me on, but not all. Redivius is one of four former Quartii to declare themselves the rightful Princeps of Military; he commands only a single legion—five thousand Sextii—but has them in by far the best position, ensconced now barely a day north of the city. Only a fraction of the Septimii and Octavii in those pyramids are encamped with the army, so the lush senator-owned estates up there will easily support his troops for a while.

Kadmos soon finishes his stitching and rebandaging—the wound is, all told, not bad—and glances askance at me. I hand him the dregs of my tea with a reassuring nod, and dismiss him.

“So you’re here because Eidhin’s in trouble,” I say as soon as the door closes. Our conversation thus far has left me in no doubt that Baine genuinely wants my help: as Tertius Ericius’s man, I’ve been privy to many of the discussions around our intelligence, and Baine’s information is more up to date than anything Governance and Religion have. But if he was here to defect, he wouldn’t be talking to me. Which leaves only one real conclusion.

“Yes. Redivius is intending to attack the city tomorrow night. A few hours before dawn. He’s arranged for a diversionary force to hit the docks first, and though he would deny it, he sees the Cymrians under his command as more expendable than Catenans. Eidhin will be in the first wave.”

Vek. It’s not a completely unexpected move from Redivius: he has to act before the larger armies of the other Quartii get here, and he knows holding Caten will give him a stronghold with ample food stockpiles, legitimacy, plus—probably most importantly—access to the treasury, so that he can actually pay his men. And while Governance and Religion have endorsed Quartus Laurentius, it’s really only because his single legion was already in Caten, and as a bonus he’s been willing to negotiate. It won’t matter that Redivius’s name is on the list of traitors signed by his former Princeps. If he defeats Laurentius’s forces and takes Caten, the Senate will almost certainly choose to recognise him over the alternative.

“Wait. The docks? How are they getting there if the chain… oh.”

“Magnus Quintus Otho controls the chain across the harbour mouth,” confirms Baine. “And Redivius has a fleet at his disposal. The idea will be to have each ship manned by only one or two soldiers.”

I calculate. Will-powered ships are fast and all but silent: not a terrible plan for an invasion, if it wasn’t a feint. Good enough to draw most of Caten’s defensive forces to the harbour once the alarm goes up—which, with a waxing moon and probable cloud at this time of year, could be quite late. “I could make this work. I’ll tell the Senate that Eidhin is the one who let me know the plan, in exchange for sanctuary. We could arrange for him to—”

“You misunderstand.” Baine holds up a hand. “He is not intending to defect. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

We stare at each other, me caught off guard.

“He’s… intending to fight?” I ask it dubiously. Eidhin thinks very little of Redivius; evacuating to his camp would have been the right choice, but I can hardly see him being willing to give his life for the man.

“Redivius is sending the Cymrians. Any man who refuses to go will be executed and replaced. And if any are captured or defect—if their pyramids cannot cede to someone else useful—then those pyramids will be purged. To ensure they are not ‘used by the enemies of Caten,’ says Redivius.” Baine’s disgust is undisguised.

My shoulders slump as I understand. “And those pyramids are filled with your people. Eidhin’s people.”

“Yes.”

“Then what can I do?”

“You could defect. Go with Eidhin. His retreating would be justified, if he was bringing you with him.” He sees my expression and smiles slightly, evidently knowing it wasn’t an option. “Or, you can meet him at the docks. Talk to him. He will not fight you.”

I gaze at him, a gradually dawning horror at the impossible situation he’s asking me to put my friend in. “My being there won’t change anything. He believes in the ddram cyfraith. He’ll commit himself to dust, as you’d say, before sentencing others to it.”

Baine pauses, looking mildly impressed at my knowledge. “Maybe so. But he’ll have days before Redivius actually acts to purge his pyramid. Time enough to at least try to find a way to stop him. He won’t hear it from me because I have put his life above his wishes before. But he listens to you, Catenicus. You must convince him.” He exhales, and I see it, then. Weariness and desperation hiding behind that calm exterior. He doesn’t have some clever plan, and he doesn’t have alternatives. Just a father trying to save his son. “He is not saving them by dying. He is handing them to the next man to be used in just the same way—or if Redivius falls, maybe worse. Tell him that if he still believes in our ways, then their deaths in the service of his freedom are worth more than his death in the service of their continued imprisonment.”

I stare at the ground. Good, fine words. Maybe even true. Eidhin won’t believe they come from me for a second. “There’s no way you can get them out, once the attack begins?”

“No. I will be part of the main assault. Unless you choose to kill me here, of course.”

I almost choke. I don’t think it was a joke. “Eidhin might disapprove.” I rub my forehead. “Where will the main force strike?”

“Alta Semita. The housing for the Octavii and Septimii there.” He nods when he sees my expression. “Yes, Redivius knows. He has his spies.”

“That’s the middle of the city, though. Even with Laurentius’s legion spread thin, that’s not an easy target.”

“Redivius has full control of a Transvect, as well as the anchoring points at Agerus and Tolverium.”

I frown, picturing it. Tolverium’s in Lyceria. “That surely doesn’t run through Caten, though.”

“It used to be a little south. Redivius is repositioning the Tolverium anchor as we speak.”

Silence after that, for a while. My mind racing. I need to get this information to Ericius, and quickly. But I can’t tell him about Eidhin. This is war. My friend’s life won’t be allowed to enter the equation unless the Tertius thinks he will be an asset.

“How would I even find Eidhin?” I ask heavily. It’s an accession. I don’t know if I can stop my friend from dying. But I gods-damned well have to try.

Baine tosses me something. An armband with polished turquoise at its points, the silver finely worked into a tangled, endless knot. “He’ll wear this into battle. A symbol of our people.”

I nod. Memorise one of the stones carefully, then imbue it with a sliver of Will and hand the armband back.

“Alright,” I say quietly. “Tell me everything you know.”

WE SPEND THE NEXT HOUR in deep discussion, and for all my continued wariness of the man, Eidhin’s father presents himself as thoughtful, calm, and willing to freely share information. He reminds me more of his son than I expect, albeit a far more relaxed version. Not given to emotion, certainly, but less inclined to completely shun his feelings as he gives me everything he knows about Redivius and his plan. Numbers, timing. Targets. Tactics.

What he asks in implicit exchange, I gradually realise, is personal rather than strategic. For the most part, his careful interspersing questions revolve around Eidhin—his time in the Academy, his friendships and frustrations and successes. He glowers along with my description of our time under Praeceptor Dultatis. Unconsciously beams as I relate his impressive progress learning Common.

I am slow to reveal much, at first. Suspicious. But the more I speak, the more I see the eagerness Baine is trying to conceal. I feel it in his cautious chuckles at my explanation of our early interactions, or the way he emanates pride when I describe our efforts in the Labyrinth. There’s a greed there not for information, but for the heart behind it all. A desire simply to know his son better.

So I talk. Eidhin, perhaps, would not approve. But I miss my father every day. I will not be the one to stand in the way of a chance for them to make a better connection.

When I get to Callidus, Baine nods sadly, and not just because he hears the scars in my voice. “Eidhin took that hard, too,” he observes softly. “He was never an expressive boy, and I no longer expect his joy to be directed at me. But I have watched him, these past months. More than he realises. I don’t think he has smiled once.”

I think about it. Vek. “You’re right.” He hasn’t been overtly melancholy, but Eidhin is never overtly anything. And while it’s hardly surprising, he has felt… more grave, I suppose, since the Iudicium. Before, he would at least allow a grin now and then. Restrained when they came, but all the more bright for their rarity.

Perhaps because he emotes so little, Eidhin has always seemed a rock against the waves of grief and depression. But now, talking to his father, I wonder whether I have perhaps been paying too much attention to my own burdens, and not enough to my friend’s.

“He feels a sense of responsibility because he chose not to be in the Iudicium. Even though it was for the right reasons. Honourable reasons,” I say eventually.

“The hardest thing in the world, Catenicus. To regret what was right.” Baine sighs. “He sounds so much like his brother.”

I blink. “Brother?”

Baine pauses. Assesses me, then nods slowly. A thoughtful motion. More one of realisation within himself, than an acknowledgement of my surprise. “Cathair.” He says the name as though it might break. “Older than Eidhin by a few minutes. Returned to dust when the Republic attacked. Four years ago, now.”

My heart wrenches, for my friend and for the old, unhealed grief in Baine’s voice. “I didn’t know.”

“Do not take it as a slight. The fact that Eidhin has confided as much as he has in you…” Baine smiles sadly. Shakes his head. “We lost Cathair and then I was given a choice by the Hierarchy. I believe you know much of the rest.” He studies me with sad eyes. “My son has told you why he no longer speaks to me?”

I exhale. Nod. “He believes you betrayed ddram cyfraith. He says you preached your entire life about knowing the line you will not cross. And then in the end, you crossed yours.” I don’t put any accusation into the words.

Baine thinks sombrely.

“We do not stop learning when we get older,” he eventually tells me. “ ‘Know your line.’ It is good advice for a son. For a man, even. But for a father?” He leans forward. “To protect our sons, Catenicus, there is no line we will not cross.”

There is something about the way he says it. Sadness and fierce, unrelenting conviction. Though my father never said anything similar, I see him in that moment. I see the desperation and the determination.

I understand my friend’s pain, perhaps even more than I did before. But from what I know, what I have heard here, it is hard to fault Baine his decisions.

After that, we speak a little more about what may happen should Eidhin agree to stop fighting. Baine has several suggestions for ways to sneak him out of the city—including the sewers, which is how he got in tonight, apparently—and also where he might go after that to stay safe. He warns me, time and again, not to mention his involvement in any of it. Knowing Eidhin, I don’t argue.

Finally, though, as the late hours turn to early, we stand. Our conversation and bargaining done, our ideas spent.

I hold out my hand. “I hope we can speak again, after tomorrow.”

His smile is tight at the unsaid remainder as he clasps my wrist. He knows the information he’s given me will almost certainly spell defeat for the invasion, and that means there’s a good chance he won’t survive it. “I cannot change how fate weighs my son’s life, Catenicus. But I have at least tried to put my thumb on the scale. And if it means Caten does not fall to Redivius, then all the better. No matter my own destiny.”

We start walking to the door. “He is that bad?”

“He is a pitiless and calculating man. But then, so are most leaders in such times. Civil war is always about personal gain, no matter what the mob thinks as they die.” He pauses. Examines me. “A shame you do not have a command of your own, Catenicus. Men speak your name often. Many would follow if you declared yourself a contender. The Republic could use a leader trying to unite, rather than conquer.”

I snort, assuming he is joking, and it only fades to a more vague amusement when I realise he’s genuinely having the thought. “I am happy as I am, thank you.”

“The happy are never great, Catenicus. I know you are not Military, but your family is. You were Domitor and would have the support of Governance and Religion. Find a few skilled generals and a legion or two, and it is not as foolish as you think.” He claps me on the back. Understanding the impossibility of it, even as he’s being serious. “Perhaps not soon, but in a few years. Do not dismiss it out of hand. I do not know what shape the Republic will take when all of this is done, but it will need leaders made of better stuff than our current ones.”

We pass through the atrium—deserted, Kadmos presumably abed—and reach the entryway. Baine raises the hood of his cloak and steps out into the darkness of the empty street. The pulsing light of the Aurora Columnae touches the low clouds in the distance behind him.

“Catenicus.” I pause as I move to shut the door. “Eidhin trusts you, in a way I did not think he would ever be able to again. I protected my son, with what I did—but I broke him, too. And as much as I wish to lay the blame at the feet of the Republic, it was not their duty to keep him whole. It was mine.” He swallows. The admission hard. “That trust is a delicate thing, now, no matter how it might seem to you. As fragile as glass. If you break it, you break him all over again. Maybe forever, this time. I know I already ask the impossible, but I ask for one more miracle. Help him without betraying him. Save my son without destroying his desire to be saved.”

He holds my gaze for a long moment. Nods.

Vanishes into the small hours of Caten’s glowering darkness.